The Railwalkers

Chapter 2-3

“…iolet…Hey, Violet!”

Violet turned, just slightly, when she heard her own name. Safe under the awning of the Dewdrop Saloon, Eustace Carpenter stood with his arms crossed. His face was drawn seriously in a way that made him look like a concerned ape. Violet would have laughed if she had the energy for it.

“Why’d you walk out of church today?” Eustace demanded.

Violet swayed where she stood. Rather than ignoring him, she answered simply. “Didn’t feel like stayin’.”

“I talked to Sheriff Anderson,” Eustace continued. “He and his have been lookin’ for your woman all night. Can’t seem to find her.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So?” Eustace stepped closer to the edge of the awning. “You done it? Or what?”

Violet was silent a moment. She observed Eustace’s face. There was accusation in his eye, and something else. Something she never thought she’d see in the eyes of Eustace Carpenter. It flickered like a dying candle, and immediately caught Violet’s interest. Violet stepped forward once. Eustace inched backward. Violet tilted her head curiously. “Why does it matter to you, Eustace?”

Eustace hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “It-it don’t.”

“Oh?” Violet took another step forward. Eustace practically leapt back. She felt an odd thrill at the sight. A sick sense of satisfaction budded inside of her, and she rounded to Eustace fully. “I think it does,” she said. “Why so scared? Hm? All this time, were you just some lump of hot air? All I had to do was give you a little…prick?” Violet made a sudden jerk with her arm. Eustace, almost out of instinct, grabbed the pole that held up the saloon’s awning. Violet threw her head back and laughed. Perhaps she would die for a crime she didn’t commit, but seeing Eustace crumble like dirt was almost worth the rope.

“She-demon!” Eustace spat. The veins in his neck popped out madly, but he didn’t dare move from his safe spot. “They’re gonna hang you high, Violet! And we’re all gonna watch!” Violet didn’t bother shouting back. Eustace Carpenter was afraid of her—maybe even terrified. She didn’t need to say another word. Even with the world falling apart around her, at least she would leave it with the satisfaction of making Eustace wet himself.

That small victory didn’t last long. As the rain poured harder, Violet grew heavier. She sloshed her way through the town and back to her home. All the while, the reality of her fate settled on her like poison ice. She shivered, wondering vaguely if she’d die at the gallows with a cold. By the time she reached her front door, Violet was trembling. She walked inside and shut it behind her. A puddle of rainwater grew steadily bigger at her feet. That’s when the heartache began. Violet was familiar with heartache. Of what little she remembered about her father, crying endlessly after his funeral stayed with her. Her first night in Arkansas, Violet was overwhelmed with homesickness, and clutched her pillow for comfort. Eustace had made her feel ill many times in her younger days, and there were plenty of nasty fights with her mother growing up that left her ruined.

This was beyond anything she felt before.

Violet collapsed to her knees, her hands clutching her shoulders. She felt as though her insides were being shredded by iron claws. Her head throbbed with each heartbeat. Every bone in her body ached. The world spun when she closed her eyes, and didn’t stop when she opened them. She tried to get to her feet, but her legs were limp, and sent her back to the floor. She would have chipped a tooth if she hadn’t braced herself with her hands. Laying along the cold wood, shivering and drenched, Violet cried. She didn’t care who heard. Her mouth opened wide, and she wailed as loud as her lungs could allow. She didn’t notice the rushing footsteps from the stairs and the kitchen. When familiar hands tried to pick her up, Violet shook them off, weeping even louder. Voices tried to speak up, but Violet drowned them out. They tried to get her to stand. Violet didn’t. They tried to get her to be quiet, to stop crying. But it felt good to cry. So Violet cried.

Somehow, eventually, Violet was half dragged into the parlor, still bawling and sopping like a drowned cat. Finding herself on the lounging couch, fatigue calmed her down enough to look around. Charlie and Mrs. Donovan held her to the cushions, breathlessly trying to speak. “Oh Lord…” Charlie was close to tears herself, and quickly grabbed a blanket off the arm chair. She wrapped Violet around in it tightly, wiping her face and hair. “We were so worried ‘bout you, Miss Violet! What happened?”

“First you abandon church, now this…” Mrs. Donovan wrung a handkerchief in her hands anxiously, not sure what to do about her hysterical daughter. “What in God’s name has gotten into you, child?”

Violet didn’t know if she could answer. She teetered gently where she sat, still trying to catch her breath. Her stomach churned, and her head felt worse than before. On the verge of unconsciousness, she muttered: “I need a bath…”

Charlie and Mrs. Donovan looked at each other. Slowly, Charlie stood, keeping her own tears at bay. “Yessum,” she said softly. “I’ll run you one. Come on now.” Charlie eased her to her feet, her hands strong as she held Violet upright. Without another word, Violet was gently ushered upstairs, where Charlie ran a warm, comforting bath for her.

* * * *

Violet slept in intervals of two or three hours a piece. Exhausted from the day, she fell asleep quickly, only to see images of blood and the feeling of something tight around her neck. Each time, she awoke with a start, her skin slick with sweat. The fourth time she woke, Violet sat up in bed. Her blankets and nightdress were both soaked. Violet dragged herself to her washbowl and wiped herself down. She changed clothes, but didn’t feel like crawling back into bed. When before she could barely keep her eyes open, now she was restless. Violet looked at the clock on her wall. It was nearly three-thirty in the morning. She contemplated going out to her horses when she heard footsteps in the kitchen.

Making her way downstairs, Violet saw Charlie sitting at the kitchen table, knitting feverishly. She was also dressed in her cap and gown, a glass of half-drank milk beside her. When Charlie noticed she was there, she first looked up with a start. “Lord.” She put a hand over her heart. “You scared me, Miss Violet…I didn’t hear you come down.”

Violet stepped in further. “Sorry Charlie.”

Charlie pulled out a chair and pat it. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“Not well,” Violet admitted, sitting down. “It was more than last night though.”

“That’s good. You want some buttermilk? Still got some from yesterday.”

“I’m all right.”

Charlie’s brow creased with worry. “Are you?” she asked. Violet didn’t answer. Gently, Charlie took her hand. “What happened yesterday, sugar? You were…Well, I’ve never seen you such a mess. My heart nearly broke. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Violet wasn’t sure of what to do. On the one hand, she knew that if her mother had heard what she had, it might be more than she could take. On the other…she needed someone. Someone to listen to her, to help carry the weight. Someone, maybe even, to help.

“They think it’s me.” Her voice croaked, but remained steady. “They think I killed him, Charlie.”

“Who thinks that?”

“Everyone. The sheriff. The town. Everyone but you, Mama, and Mary.”

“But what about—?”

“They can’t find her. And if they can’t find her, won’t nobody believe me. If nobody believes me…” Her hand tightened on Charlie’s. “I heard it from Sheriff Anderson himself. He said that with Mr. Munts attacking me, it looks obvious. Can’t say I blame them for thinkin’ that, me lookin’ the way I did. He says that judges don’t take kindly to murderesses. I’ll be…I’ll be hung for it.”

Charlie’s breath stopped short, her fingers to her lips. A long silence hung in the air. After which, Charlie leaned forward, clutching Violet’s hand so tightly that her fingers tingled. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do?” Violet shook her head. “And you’re sure about what you heard?” Violet nodded. Another pause. “Then you gotta run, Miss Violet.”

Violet turned to Charlie, confusion on her face. “Run?” she said.

“Yes,” said Charlie seriously. “Run. Run as fast as you can and you don’t never look back. You pack yourself some warm clothes, some food, some money…Hell, I’ll give you every last penny I got socked away. And you grab Maple and you run for the hills. Don’t tell no one where you’re off to, don’t use your real name. You just keep movin’ till you find yourself a home.”

Violet took a moment to process what Charlie was telling her. It didn’t sound or feel real. “But…but what about you? What about Mama?”

Charlie smiled sweetly. “I’ll tell her everything. And you be sure to write once in a while, you hear me? And one day, this’ll all be over, and we’ll be a family again.”

“Wh…why are you tellin’ me this?”

“Because I’ve lived this.” Charlie tucked a strand of hair behind Violet’s ear. “The whole world against you, no matter what the truth really is…Miss Violet, I am a colored woman from the South. I know when one must run.”

Tears sprung from Violet’s eyes, but for a much more beautiful reason this time. No words could express her gratitude. Reaching out, she fell into Charlie’s arms, holding her as tight as she could. Charlie let her linger for as long as she needed. When they broke apart, Violet wiped her eyes. “Can’t you come with me?” she implored.

But Charlie shook her head. “Someone’s gotta take care of your Mama. And if I need to, I can throw the sheriff off your trail. You just worry about getting somewhere safe.” They hugged once more, and Charlie stood. “Now let’s hop to it. Only a couple hours before sunup. Don’t want nobody seeing you.”

With that, Violet sprung up to her bedroom as quietly as possible, and began to pack. A suitcase would be too bulky, and so she wrapped her clothes in blankets, and knotted them tightly. She changed into her only other pair of breeches, a shirt and thick coat. Rummaging through her drawers, she found her money tin and quickly counted twenty-one dollars and fifty-seven cents. Just before leaving her bedroom, she swiped a journal and the fountain pen next to it from her writing desk. With everything packed into a bundle, Violet raced back down to the kitchen, where Charlie was waiting for her with a sack of food and a small pouch of loose change.

“Here.” She handed both to Violet. “I gave you most of what we got in cans, and the rest of the coffee. I got me about six or seven dollars in that pouch, so don’t you waste it. Take a pot, too.” They both stopped suddenly when they heard footsteps.

“Violet…?” Mrs. Donovan’s voice echoed from upstairs. “Charlie? What in the world…?”

“Come on now. Quickly.” Charlie ushered her out to the stables behind the house. “I’ll explain everything to your Mama. You stay to say goodbye and she might not let you leave.” Working together, they saddled Maple and led her through the fence. Violet’s bundles were stuffed into her saddle bags and latched tightly. Violet was just jumping into her saddle when Mrs. Donovan came running through the kitchen door.

“Violet—”

Charlie pulled back and slapped Maple’s hindquarters as hard as she could. With a sharp neigh and a jolt, Violet went thundering off through their estate. Violet looked back to see Charlie holding her bereft and confused mother tightly by her shoulders. Guilt clouded her heart, but Violet turned back around, and rode Maple into the trees.

By the time she reached the small creek at the edge of the estate, it was nearly sunrise. Maple was slowed to a trot, but she stopped her completely at the water. Violet stared into the thicket. Soon enough, Violet would be farther than she’d ever been before in her life. She wondered, off-hand, if she should turn back around. Surely there should be something her mother could do. A lawyer they could hire…Maple shifted uncomfortably, her ears twitching, as though she knew that something was amiss. Violet leaned down, clutching her thick neck with both arms. “I’m sorry, girl,” she said. “We can’t ever go back. But we’ll have each other. That’s all we’ll need.” Maple gummed at her bridle. With a deep breath, Violet tightened her legs, and Maple cantered softly through the water and into the woods.

The trees swallowed Violet and Maple whole. As they rode deeper and deeper, Violet feared that she was going in circles. Every inch of the woods around them was unfamiliar and daunting. They rode for hours, Violet occasionally feeling that the trees were endless. And with each step, Violet feared the sound of hound dogs coming to sniff her out. Thankfully they never came, but eventually she began to tire. The air had become hotter, and moister by the minute. It made Violet drowsy, her eyes itching to close, even for a bit. Eventually, Violet found a plot of forest that was guarded by thick, mossy tree trunks. A fallen log lay hollowed out by years of rot. Slipping from Maple’s saddle, Violet let her graze freely and sat up against the hallowed log. She watched above her as the sunlight twinkled against the canopy of green. It must have been late afternoon. It was the first time in two days she felt truly calm.

“At least we won’t die in Redrock,” she said. “Will we, Maple?” Maple flicked her tail, munching a small patch of grass by the tree roots. Violet let her head loll against the mossy bark behind her, listening to the sounds around them. Her body limp, she closed her eyes and fell into a gentle slumber.